Too Much Time With Miss Molly
by hearteyescolfer
Summary: Moriarty realises that Glee is fast becoming a top priority, along with destroying Sherlock, of course. Drabble.


**Title: **Too Much Time With Miss Molly  
**Summary: **Moriarty realises that Glee is fast becoming a top priority, along with destroying Sherlock, of course.  
**Note:** Plot bunny that wouldn't leave! Total crack.

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**Too Much Time With Miss Molly**

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Molly Hooper was bloody insufferable.

Moriarty wanted to throw himself out of the nearest window at every chance he got. The dates, oh lord, the _dates_. She insisted on paying half of everything, the cab fares, the meals, the wine. Couldn't the girl just let him work his magic and make her swoon with expensive gestures? She rambled on about Sherlock, but none of it was valued information. He didn't need to know about his cheekbones or how he never went anywhere without his pet doctor and how she was sure they were maybe, possibly more than friends. By the end of the second date, Moriarty knew so much stuff about Sherlock that he could of written a series of biographies about him. Not that such a thing wouldn't be useful, but if he had any intentions of developing some kind of _relationship_ with Molly in the future, her obvious swooning would of been a bit of a damper on his affections. But the worst thing that Molly Hooper inflicted upon Moriarty wasn't her wages or her gossip about Sherlock, it wasn't even the fact that she talked in great detail about her pet cat (_Mittens_, it was apparently called) or her ability to knock back the wine and talk endlessly about corpses. No. Moriarty could cope with all of the above.

They decided that their third date should be at Molly's house. A pizza, some wine and maybe a movie. Moriarty didn't know much about women, but he knew enough to deduce that he was about to potentially get some. So he picked out his most trendy of outfits, sprayed on some expensive cologne and headed off to Molly's house. She opened the door with a smile and they settled down together, her leaning happily on his shoulder as they decided on a DVD to watch.

"This show is pretty good. Have you ever seen it before?"

Nope. Moriarty shook his head. After all, who had time for TV when they were busy trying to destroy lives? It seemed pretty feminine, the cover of the box obviously aimed at the younger generation. Still, could be good. He tried not to judge books by their covers and all that jazz. Whatever. He sat back, Molly resting against his chest as they watched the first episode together.

And it all went downhill from there.

"Oh my God, Finn _isn't_ the dad?"

"Terri is such a bitch, I hope he leaves her for Emma."

"Kurt's costume is fabulous! Leave him alone, you creeps!"

Molly fell asleep somewhere in between Jesse St James egging Rachel and Quinn giving birth. Moriarty didn't know, all he knew was that it was three in the morning and he needed more. One season was simply not enough. He needed to know what happened next. It was vital. This show was certainly up his street. Music, comedy gold, hot actors. He tucked Molly underneath a blanket and dashed back to the flat he was renting in a wild flurry. Sleep? He didn't know what that was. Meaningless, waste of time. He grabbed his laptop, stole his neighbour's wifi and broke out the ice cream.

He was about to begin the third series when Molly text him. She said it wasn't working out and he couldn't agree more. How dare she introduce him to this show and destroy his life? He was the mastermind, the destroyer of things! Screw her, he had milked her of whatever Sherlock based information she had anyway. Which was little or nothing other than his bloody face and questionable relationships. He got his number out of it though. _Ker-ching_.

And holy shit, Glee did a disco themed episode, Moriarty was about to lose his shit.

He got through the third season in two days, taking regular intervals to text Sherlock and a longer one to pop out and strap a bomb to someone. No biggie. And he definitely didn't cry when Rachel left for New York. Okay, a little bit, but they were manly, evil tears. Then with a little help from Google, he found the ultimate prize. There was a _concert movie_. He always thought that TV addiction was for the simple minded, but he understood now. Oh, how he understood. It was only afterwards, when he flipped his laptop closed and wondered what he would do with his life until season four, did Moriarty look around the room. Too much ice cream. Tissues all over the floor. He had pizza sauce on his shirt and he smelt like he was homeless. His eyes hurt from staring at the laptop. His phone was flashing. Text, someone loved him. He hoped it was Sherlock.

_We can still be friends! We should have a Supernatural marathon, text me back! - MH_.

Damn Molly Hooper, damn her straight to bloody hell.


End file.
